


Touch-Afeared

by rawrkinjd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Haphephobia, Hugs, M/M, Masturbation, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29537325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/pseuds/rawrkinjd
Summary: Lambert is a haphephobic (fear of touch/being touched) omega. He meets Aiden and over the course of a decade or more, they work through it together.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 122





	Touch-Afeared

**Author's Note:**

> In the Continent Cakeshop we have a habit of writing entire stories in our channels. Completely on the hoof, without any planning or forethought. We just go off. I did one for Lambert and Aiden last night and thought I’d drag it over. It’s set in the omegaverse, but there's no actual sexual content outside of Aiden's masturbation (while Lambert watches). This is written more as a stream of consciousness, rather than my usual style, due to its nature/origin.

Lambert takes measures. He’s always covered head to toe in leather - gloves, jacket, the works - the closest he’ll get to anyone is a hug with Eskel and Geralt, once a year. He has to be fully clothed, and it takes a lot. But he cares about the stupid bastards, so he tries.

He’s more or less fully operational at all times and his fear of being touched - of touching others - is generally manageable. Heat though? It’s a clusterfuck. He knows when it’s starting because everything aches, and his heart is always beating a thousand times a minute. His head feels like it’s stuffed full of wool and his skin is filmed in sweat.

Vesemir stopped him fleeing out into the wilderness years ago. So now he locks himself in the telescope tower with some blankets, some rations and a prayer. He’s always desperate for the clawing inside to stop, the burning emptiness makes him weep silently in the darkness. But the thought of someone touching him to alleviate it - an alpha, a beta, it doesn’t matter - is terrifying and he doesn’t want to examine the “why” too closely. He thinks his suffering will be eternal.

And then he meets Aiden. Aiden is one of those people who goes in for the hug naturally.

Lambert is pretty sure that if this guy could get away with kissing people as a greeting, he would. But he’s compelling. Positive. Lively. He’s the human equivalent of a firecracker.

After the ogre of Ellander, they meet up a few times and become friends. But when Aiden goes in for a hug? Lambert knocks him out. It’s automatic. Reflex. Aiden was a bit drunk and mucking around. The blow renders him unconscious and Lambert’s left to drag him back to camp for safety.

The following morning, Lambert has to tentatively outline something he has never put into words other than “don’t fucking touch me”. He doesn’t have the vocabulary. Or the understanding. He doesn’t get it himself, and in order to get it, he has to look for its origin and he doesn’t want to do that either. There are demons lurking in that darkness that he isn’t strong enough to face.

Aiden, with his black eye, listens carefully. He doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but he understands boundaries. He can do that. Aiden had never noticed how Lambert always asks for contractors to put the money on a table surface, how he never shakes hands to seal a deal and takes the longest routes through town to avoid the densest crowds. Now he does.

They continue meeting up, playing cards, getting in trouble, sleeping under the stars.

Aiden is desperate to hug, pet and scuffle. He comes from a School where they sleep in piles. Lambert should be in his pile. His language of love is all based around touch and - oh shit, what did he just think?

Aiden knows Lambert’s an omega. But the guy is fastidious with his heats and suppressants. (Someone like Lambert doesn’t do ‘accidentally caught short’, you know he’s measured everything out by the millimetre).

Over the years, Lambert goes through the Continent’s version of therapy by talking to Aiden. Aiden is not equipped for it, but who else will Lambert talk to? He’s touch-starved and touch-terrified at the same time, and they soon figure out that the fear is rooted in his repeated loss of bodily autonomy. As a child, as an omega and as a witcher. For him, being touched is the ultimate loss of power and control, because every time someone touches him, they hurt him, change him or take something away.

The first time they touch since the ill-fated hug is fraught. It’s in the middle of a quiet woodland. It takes hours. Just a gloveless hand, but Lambert backs away several times.

He gets angry, frustrated; he gnashes and snarls, trying to get Aiden to leave, because then he doesn’t lose. He isn’t the one that backs down. He calls him names and questions his intentions; he’s vile.

But Aiden just sits there. Telling Lambert he has this. That he’s stronger than the fear in his head. That Aiden will wait for as long as it takes, because Lambert has already said he wants this. He wants to fight his way out of this cage.

In the end the first touch is a forefinger on the centre of Aiden’s palm, then a couple more. Lambert can hear the blood rush through his ears. He can’t breathe, he’s shaking and he can feel tears burning at the backs of his eyes, but the world doesn’t end. He’s still there. Aiden’s still there.

As he’ll always be.

Aiden doesn’t touch back yet. He’s too scared. But every time they meet up now, Lambert will take his glove off and just lightly touch his hand. Sometimes Aiden can smell fear, hear his heart, but he always does it. He’s building his confidence through exposure; he feels safe enough with Aiden to push that boundary.

As time goes on, a couple of fingers become a palm. Then a stroke. Exploring what Aiden’s skin feels like rather than just resting there.

Aiden warns Lambert before he touches back. He doesn’t want to ruin it. Asks to hold his hand properly and promises to go no further. And Lambert lets him. Holds his breath as Aiden touches his palm and then his wrist. He feels the goosebumps rush up his arm. 

Lambert’s mind can’t quite sort fight or flight from “this feels good”, so he panics a bit. Aiden draws back. Gives him some space and lets him come back under his own steam. He does.

Before long, with a bit more practice, they’re holding hands. At first Lambert can’t do it if he’s had a shit week. Too much cognitive pressure and stress. But at some point - Aiden doesn’t know when - Lambert begins doing it for comfort during those hard times. He sees Aiden as an anchor whenever he needs grounding.

And the hardest times for Lambert? It’s his heat. It’s always been his heat. He starts thinking about Aiden during the winter when he’s frightened and everything hurts. He wonders whether having Aiden there to hold his hand would help. Would it be less frightening? Would it hurt less? When he’s holding Aiden’s hand, the world loses its sharp edges.

A few winters go by, and then Lambert asks. It’s a big thing. Aiden’s not some mindless knothead, he knows that, but it’s still going to be uncomfortable to smell everything that a heat entails and only hold his hand. Lambert knows he’s being a selfish prick, says as much, but Aiden accepts without hesitation.

They head up to Kaer Morhen, navigating the trail with ease. Aiden meets the family. Geralt’s a bit of a dick, Eskel’s just Eskel and Vesemir tells them not to fuck up his good rug. It’s a joke. He’s just astounded that Lambert has a… friend?

They make their usual arrangements a couple of weeks in - food, blankets that smell of family, lots of water and soft clothes - and Aiden drags an armchair up to the bed. Lambert paces, growls and is generally unpleasant the first day. He tells Aiden to leave, that there’s no point in being there, because he’s not getting anything out of it.

(He’s sore and crampy, there’s no such thing as Ben and Jerry’s and a Bridget Jones marathon on the Continent, you see).

Lambert’s terrified of what might happen. He’s never been so aware of Aiden’s scent. Or how handsome he is and wouldn’t their kits look so–ahh, fuck.

By day two he’s in bed. Everything hurts now. It’s not sore. It’s pain. And Aiden’s hand is right there on the edge of the bed. Lambert’s treating it like the emergency cord. The last resort. For when it gets bad and he wants to tear his own skin off.

He snatches it when he’s coated in sweat and shaking. The relief is immediate. Just a simple touch and the fog eases. The thought of anything more is too much. But he has Aiden’s hand, can feel the familiar scars, can trace the calluses and the creases of his knuckles. Follow the lines on his palm and imagine them as pathways out of the pain.

He actually sleeps. He never sleeps in heat. It’s normally a semi-conscious fever dream full of nightmares. When he wakes, he feels fucking awful, but not as bad as usual. Aiden’s looking uh… well, he’s looked better. Clearly hasn’t slept much. But he stays. They eat and drink together, laugh quietly like two teenagers who’ve snuck their father’s bottle of brandy into their bedroom and Aiden holds Lambert’s hand when another wave hits. 

The familiar topography of his hand is Lambert’s map to safety.

The heat doesn’t last long. Like in most things, Lambert’s pretty efficient. His body gets through most of it in about four days and then he feels well enough to get up and wander the castle again. 

Aiden excuses himself and has an absolutely monumental wank in a tower room somewhere, because he is human not a saint. He takes a blanket from Lambert’s bed, wears the damned thing and just disappears into a mini-rut of desperation for a few hours, because Lambert smelled amazing, and Aiden had wanted to look after him and make him a nest and give him kittens and go hunt a mighty elk to earn his love thus proving himself as worthy and… yeah, Aiden had a rough time. He’s allowed a celebratory wank for his fortitude. 

As everything settles and they all bed down for the first major storm, they sit down and talk about it. Lambert demands honesty and Aiden bargains for it in return. They have feelings. They both know this. Again, Lambert has to cobble something together from the words he does have. It’s not nearly as eloquent as Aiden who has apparently absorbed the language of love through osmosis by hugging too many people or some shit. But what it boils down to is: “I’d like to navigate this shit with you - for you - I’m not sure how it’ll go, or whether I’ll ever be able to do more than hold your hand. But please.”

Aiden nearly dies of relief and gratitude. Because there was a large part of him, with his own fear of abandonment, that thought Lambert would draw a line under them now. And he’s basically shaking with the desire to hug and smooch. He has to settle for an enthusiastic handhold while bouncing in his seat.

Aiden wants to do it “properly” next year. He wants to build the nest, and hunt for some food. Lambert rolls his eyes - traditional bullshit - but he lets Aiden do it because it makes him happy. Vesemir is somewhat impressed by the huge elk Aiden drags in, while looking puffed up, half feral. If he had a tail, it’d be a bottle brush. He’s doing the Aiden equivalent of dumping a dead pigeon on the door mat. Eskel and Geralt pop their heads round the door and then slowly back away. Aiden growls. No elk for them!

When Lambert’s heat hits this time, Aiden lays in the bed. Fully clothed, of course, with Lambert in his softer braies and shirt. The nest is haphazard and a bit chaotic, but it’s perfect. It smells of Eskel, Geralt, Vesemir and Aiden. Lambert’s never had a nest before, and it feels a bit awkward, but he’s grateful for it though when the nausea arrives and he’s closed in on all sides, comfortable and safe. 

He has Aiden’s hand in his straight away this time, and it doesn’t feel like a drop into the churning abyss. It’s more gradual, the heat creeping rather than a gut punch. He squirms a little closer at one point, just close enough to feel the warmth of Aiden through their clothes. He wants more, but the wanting feeling is still frightening. They’ve agreed that any additional steps they take won’t happen during heat, so he tries to push it down.

It’s easier for Lambert this year. Aiden even sleeps a while, and wakes up with a bit of a start when he realises Lambert’s forehead is against his bicep. Slipped in sleep. If anything, having him this close and content is even more torturous. A happy omega is frickin’ catnip. Aiden wants to just roll in Lambert. He covers him with an extra blanket. Just to, you know, marinate it a bit for… alone time.

Lambert knows what Aiden goes off and does. After last time, after another year of getting to know each other, of being close, he’s definitely interested. Now that there’s no fear of Aiden pushing for anything. He’s got through two heats and been the perfect gentleman. Lambert asks to watch.

Aiden has never had spectators, and gets a bit of performance anxiety, so Lambert retrieves another few of his blankets for Aiden to lay down in. Surrounded by Lambert’s scent, happy omega in the throes of heat, it’s so easy to get lost. Aiden takes all his clothes off so he can rub through the scent, have it on his skin, and he takes it slow. He wants it to last (because if he’s brutally honest he could probably come in thirty seconds if he licked and nosed the scent, but Lambert wants to watch so…)

Aiden can be a bit of an exhibitionist in day-to-day life, and now that he’s comfortable it translates across. He tugs and rolls at his prick, plays with the skin of his knot and teases himself until he’s wet and panting. He growls, bites the blankets, rolls his hips into his fist and pretends it’s Lambert that he has wrapped around him. He can hear Lambert’s heart nearby, it’s fast, but there’s no bitter fear.

It’s a shuddering sigh, edged with the hint of a whine, that gets him. Hearing that noise from Lambert melts his self control like ice under the summer sun. Back bowed, he squeezes his knot and comes harder than he ever has. Lambert pads over as the proverbial dust settles, and admires the wreck before him. Very nice, very nice. He throws a towel at the hot mess that is his alpha and heads out to get them some beer.

More time goes by. Lambert grows comfortable with his heatmate, his alpha. They hold hands and they sit close, but they haven’t embraced since that first time all those years ago. They decide to try again. One winter, after Lambert’s heat has been and gone, they sit facing each other, holding hands for a bit. Aiden knows he has to wait for Lambert to move first, but he is A Hugger who has not Hugged the man he loves properly. Ten years later he can still feel the black eye.

They end of lying down eventually, face to face, no clothes anymore. They did a dry run and it went okay - clothes still on - so Lambert knows the mechanics, what to expect, the feel of someone’s arms around his back, closing him in. He was uncertain and Aiden could feel it. Aiden’s nervous too, but holding it in. He doesn’t want to ruin it. All this work. Hell, he considers just offering to hold Lambert’s hand forever. Because he’d have Lambert, and that’s all he ever wants.

It starts with a fingertip on the chest. Lambert loves Aiden’s ginger chest hair, so he plays through it. Feels the soft wisps over his skin, leaves a little swirl. Can feel Aiden’s heart beneath his palm when he presses it flat. His own hitches when he shuffles closer. But it’s okay. It’s Aiden. Aiden who has respected his agency and his autonomy for ten years, who only whispered in the dark a few days before that he dreams about what Lambert would feel like in his arms.

Lambert strokes a hand down his side, follows the bump of each rib and lean muscle. It’s not scary. It’s Aiden. He moves in closer until he feels the first whisper of chest hair against his, and then it’s easy. Easy to sink against him and tuck his nose beneath his chin with a soft rumble; an omega doting upon his alpha. Aiden is definitely shaking - he is not crying, not, Witchers don’t cry, you see - and wraps his arms very slowly around Lambert’s back. 

They’ve had so many false starts, they’ve had setbacks when Lambert’s demons threatened to tear them both in half, but it was worth it. Worth it for this moment of having the man he loves in his arms, and Aiden rubs his face into the pillow to clear off the wet before he buries his nose in Lambert’s hair. 

They hadn’t really discussed much more. Like neither of them dared dream it’d get this far, because the disappointment would be so bitter. So, the kiss against his neck is unexpected and Aiden hiccups in shock (not crying, you see). It’s hilarious. Lambert’s chuckle is the sweetest sound on the Continent and Aiden can’t help but echo it. They both relax. This is fine. They’re fine. They could stay like this forever and it’d be all they’d ever want.

When Lambert rolls over and allows Aiden to guard his back, to nose his neck and breathe him in, Aiden is like a drug addict. Lambert’s pretty sure Aiden sucks his hairline back another inch with how deeply he huffs him up. For once, he’s permitted to give in to his instincts; to rumble and purr, to kiss the slope of Lambert’s neck where he hopes his mating mark will go one day. It’s chaste, very soft. Aiden doesn’t want to push. Lambert is worth more to him than the brief relief of giving in to the feral creature in his chest.

They sleep like that most nights. Sometimes Lambert needs some space again, who doesn’t? But he’s the one who asks to kiss properly. He’s seen Geralt and Eskel do it, and Geralt with whoever he brings back, be it sorceress or troubadour, so has to see what all the excitement’s about.

They kiss for the first time on the rooftops of Kaer Morhen. A little liquid courage, a game of cards and an hour or so of Lambert sitting in Aiden’s lap. It’s chaste. The softest touch of lips, with closed eyes and arms wrapped loosely. It doesn’t go on for very long; there are no fireworks, or explosions behind their eyes. It’s a gentle ebb and flow of warmth between them that they sink into gladly. For a moment, they exist only in the place where their lips meet, where they share the same air and the same purpose. 

Afterwards, Lambert touches Aiden’s lips, traces the massive smile they’re wearing, and decides he’d like to kiss that smile forever.


End file.
